


in the wheatgrass

by eat_crow



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s, Love Confessions, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28408248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eat_crow/pseuds/eat_crow
Summary: "if this is not love," he repeats, "then i do not want it." he makes fists of your shirt. "do you hear me, jonah? if this is not love, do not ever speak to me of love again, because it will never be enough. not after what i have felt for you."
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 15
Kudos: 19





	in the wheatgrass

**Author's Note:**

> i'm half asleep i'm barely coherent and i'm in a mood

the earth is soft under your heavy body. pa is going to ask you why your back is so crumb covered and dirt stained, but that is later and this is now, and the wheatgrass is high enough to hide the meddlesome neighbor boy in your arms. 

" _you think he's right?_ " you ask, a whisper, barely loud enough to hear over the wailing cicadas. your shoulder sweats where his cheek rests. he grunts. he wasn't listening. " _reverend wilson. that men cannot love each other. that we're... perverse._ "

" _i don't give a god damn_ ," is his answer, and maybe it is the devil that pulls the corners of your lips upward and squints your eyes, but if hellfire is the warmth licking at your chest then it's awful more pleasant than they made it seem. your fingers run up and down his arm, looping around the elbow and stopping at the shoulder to come back down and hook into his rolled up sleeve. 

" _i just worry_ \--"

" _oh, you always_ worry--"

" _well, what if this_ is _only perversion? what if this is not love after all_?"

and he braces his hands, one on the soft soil that bubbles around his fingers and one on your chest wherein your lungs tighten, and he rises until he is hovering over you on his knees. his eyes are brown and stern and his brow is dark and wrinkled.

" _if this is not love_ ," he says, and hooks his leg over your waist as though he were to mount one of his beloved colts for the first time, gentle and balanced, " _if this is not love,_ " he repeats, " _then i do not want it._ " he makes fists of your shirt. " _do you hear me, jonah?_ _if this is not love, do not ever speak to me of love again, because it will never be enough. not after what i have felt for you._ "

there is a tremble in his voice. you put your hands over his. your palms are damp. he doesn't flinch.

" _don't you want salvation_?" you ask. he starts to lower, and his elbows are bent and his forearms are flush to your chest. he bumps his nose to yours.

" _only if it came from you_ ," he says.

" _that's blasphemous_ ," you say, but reach up and rest your hand on the back of his neck anyways. you rub your thumb over the tightly coiled baby hairs at his nape. " _ask me for it_."

" _for what_?"

" _for your salvation._ "

he grins at you. wicked like an angel.

" _shouldn't i repent, first, and show my devotion_?" he asks, and starts moving his hands down.


End file.
